


Afterlife

by dancey94



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, F/M, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Manipulation, Nightmares, Romance, Wendigo, dark!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:41:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancey94/pseuds/dancey94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How about a little change where Will Graham is the psychiatrist and Hannibal his patient?</p><p>Murder and romance ahead !</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

_The steady ticking of the clock resembles the steady beating of his heart. Du dum, du dum._

_His eyes open and the pendulum disappears from behind his eyelids. Instead, he sees a few chairs and a painting on a beige wall. It’s chilly. He crosses his arms over his chest and he can see a the air leaving his nose when he breathes._

_The walls become frosty and he is getting colder with every second. He rubs his palms but that doesn’t help much._

_He looks around again. The familiar waiting room and he’s waiting now. It’s like he cannot move, like his feet were glued to the floor._

_The ceiling starts cracking like there was something heavy above it. The cracks are getting bigger and he’s almost certain he’s going to get smashed under the brick. His breathing speeds up but his heartbeat remains steady. The clock falls from the wall and shatters on the wooden floor. Suddenly, there is glass everywhere like the clock was not the only thing that broke._

_He’s certain to die soon, when the room is destroyed completely._

_The dark door to the office opens and he sees a silhouette, a black smudge. It reaches for him so he grabs its hand and hopes to be pulled inside the office. When he gets closer, he sees with more clarity: a pair of black antlers, a black face, a black figure. The Wendigo._

_He is familiar with the character. He’s read about it and he’s seen it before._

_“Will…”_

_He hears his name and looks at the creature. It doesn’t open its mouth, yet Will hears his name called out again._

_“Will.”_

_“Don’t let me die.” Will says weakly, his eyes resembling the shattered glass._

_The office begins to crumble, too. The books fall from above and the paintings abandon their places on the crimson walls. The ground is shaking, Will can barely stand; he bends his knees to have better grip on the floor._

_“Will.”_

_He looks back at the wendigo and frowns. It changes its shape and for a moment Will sees a face, before it’s a black shape again. Will moves forward. He needs to get out, he needs to escape._

_The walls around him seem to move and the whole room is shrinking. A part of the ceiling falls down and crushes on the floor with a thud. The room is a dusty mess and Will knows he’s going to die there. He looks at the wendigo, who seems indifferent to the situation._

_“Please…” Will says with what he thinks is his last breath._

~~~~~~~~~~

The alarm clock on his bedside table doesn’t even get the chance to go off as Will wakes up, all sweaty and panting, at five. He takes a shower and eats light breakfast.

He checks his calendar and his email inbox. A few of his colleagues in the field inform him about a new theory and there is a review of his last article.

Will puts on a fresh shirt and a maroon tie. Then he looks for a matching vest and trousers.

He’s in his office before seven.

There is an hour left till his first patient so Will sits by his desk and uncovers a drawing he’s been working on for the last few weeks. He’s already sketched out the shape of the building of his university in Paris. Any observer would be amazed by the amount of detail he succeeded to recreate.

Will tries to focus on the drawing but he remembers his dream, not the first and most probably not the last this week, and he moves the drawing away. He takes out a new sheet of paper from the drawer and sketches just an outline of the wendigo. Before he realises, the time passes and his patient has the audacity to knock.

Will looks at his watch and sighs. He opens the door for the patient, a fifty-year-old virgin who blames his mother for all the evil things in his life, and takes a seat opposite the man.

This is the usual arrangement: Will sits closer to the door and the patient in the other chair. There is also a couch in the room but it’s more of a decoration than a furniture; no one ever sits (let alone lies) there.

“Mr Budge, did you do what I suggested the last time?” Will asks, his voice steady, calm.

“Yes. I wrote a letter to my mother saying what I blame her for. It seemed so easy at the beginning…”

“How so?”

The man is creasing the hem of his jacket and looking at the floor. His gaze is wandering but that’s not the only thing unsettling about the man.

“I started writing with this resentment I feel towards her but as I continued I realised she’s not really responsible for all the things I accused her of.”

“This is good. This is therapy leading you out of the darkness of your mind.” Will comments, his voice soothing and reassuring. “But did you manage to pin the responsibility to someone else?”

The man starts breathing heavily, his eyes are red and Will knows he’s on the verge of tears.

“Tobias?”

The man lifts his gaze at Will when he hears his name and he bursts into tears.

“It-it’s me.” He sobs. “I am… I am the one to blame…for my own…faults.”

Will remains in his chair, seemingly indifferent at the man’s suffering. Tobias continues crying for a minute or two and then looks for a packet of tissues in his pocket. He rises from his seat to throw away the used tissue and he never returns to the chair. Instead, he stands by the couch and speaks.

“I signed up on a dating website and I applied for a job in a few places.”

“This is progress. This is a very mature step and I wish you good luck.”

“I, uh, I don’t know how it’s going to turn out so I’m not quitting the therapy yet.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. You’ll be going through a lot of changes so it’s vital you continue seeing me. So, the same time next week?”

“Yes. Unless I get a job and something changes.”

“You have my card and I have a twenty-four hour cancellation policy. You already know that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Will knocks at a pair of white door and waits. He’s got rid of his tie and now he undoes another button in his shirt. He leans against the frame; this was a very long day, and he rubs the back of his neck.

The door opens and a beautiful woman emerges from the house. Her long dark hair is freely falling from her shoulders, and she raises her eyebrows above her crystal blue eyes.

“Will? I didn’t expect you tonight.” She says but lets him inside anyway.

Will knows the house, knows which door makes squeaking noise and where the bed has a broken spring. He goes to the living room and points at the couch, asking for permission to sit. The woman nods and brings another glass. One, along with a bottle of wine is already on the coffee table.

“I didn’t anticipate coming here tonight. I hope I’m not interrupting.” Will says when she pours him a drink.

The woman is leaning over the table, making the view of her cleavage easily accessible. Will looks away, acting as a gentleman, as usual. Another thing is that he’s already familiar with the shape and warmth of the woman’s breasts.

“I read the review of your article. They liked it.” The woman states and takes a seat next to Will.

They clank their glasses and at that moment Will realises something – Alana likes beer more than wine. He sips on his drink and smirks. She understands. Somehow she manages to know what he means when no one else does and sometimes she even gets what he means without any words. It’s dangerous.

“Maybe I was hoping you’d come. I don’t know.”

He looks at her. Her slightly flushed cheeks, her exposed cleavage, even her lipstick somewhat different, more lively than she’s used to wearing. She knows. She was waiting for him.

“Good thing I came, then.” Will says and smiles at her.

Alana’s scent is nothing new to him but here in her house it’s stronger and slightly different. He always wonders if similar phenomenon takes place in his house, if his scent fills the space like fire spreads over the forest.

He leans closer to her, offering a warm breath now mixing with hers. His palm on her cheek is gentle, yet firm, giving her enough indication where this is going. But it’s her who makes the first step. She locks their lips together and she opens her mouth for him.

Will kisses her with equal amount of affection and passion. It’s familiar; he’s kissed her before.

Dr William Graham was Ms Alana Bloom’s mentor when she was getting her PhD. They didn’t have an affair then, though there was some tension between them, and it’s something quite new. Will wouldn’t call it even an affair now. It just is – whenever they need it. Whenever Alana feels like releasing her pent up tension or he has a particularly annoying patient.

He kisses her now, slowly moving his hand over her arm, stroking her soft skin there.

Suddenly, his phone rings and he groans.

“Forgive me. I’d better take this.”

Will takes out the cell from his pocket and looks at the display. Unknown caller. Interesting. Should he pick it up?

“Dr William Graham speaking.”

“Good evening. I hope I’m not interrupting at this late hour?”

The voice is heavy, a man’s raspy voice, but there is something velvety about it. A peculiar accent.

“No. May I know who’s calling?”

“Oh. Forgive me. I’m Hannibal Lecter. I am, well I was, a patient of dr du Maurier. She decided to end our doctor-patient relationship and she gave me your number.”

“I understand. She wanted me to be your new therapist.”

“Apparently.”

“All right. I have to admit dr du Maurier hasn’t informed about such a thing so I’m not familiar with the circumstances.”

“But could we set an appointment so that I could decide if you’re a suitable replacement for dr du Maurier?”

“I, actually, I don’t have many options for you to choose from.”

“I work different shifts, and if you don’t mind seeing me very early or late then I’m certain we can work something out.”

Will narrows his eyes.

“I believe I have an hour to spare tomorrow morning. Let’s say seven o’clock?”

“This is acceptable. And is the address of your office as it stands on the website?”

“That’s correct.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, then.”

Will hangs up and hides the phone in his pocket. He looks at Alana, who doesn’t even seem disappointed.

“You have an early start tomorrow. You’d better go and have some rest.”

“What do you do tomorrow evening?” Will asks, casually, feigning to be interested like a friend, not a lover.

“I’m having a guest lecture at Quantico.”

“And how is working for the FBI going?”

“I rarely help them with cases but lecturing feels like I’m shaping new minds. Like mind was shaped.”

Will smiles at her and wonders if she meant it or if she was being sarcastic.

“Is it satisfying? Wouldn’t you feel more useful and powerful if you were working on cases? Helping profiling the criminal minds?”

“I prefer to stay as far away from this as I can.”

So not prone to danger or a rush of adrenaline. Alana always acts like a reasonable person craving safety and justice. And Will admires that. He likes safety as well. But he cannot deny the nights he stayed awake at night and looked at the screen of his laptop, checking the colourful posts indicating the price of shares in big companies.

Will takes Alana’s hand and kisses it.

“Have a good night, Alana.”


	2. Chapter 2

Will’s forehead creases, creating a frown, upon driving up to his office. He parks the car and sees a dark silhouette waiting by the building. It’s still a few minutes till seven. Could it be his new patient?

Will exits the car and the fog around him prevents him from seeing clearly the other person. He steps closer to the building and is greeted with a shape of a man, dressed in a dark coat and with neatly combed hair. He seems older than Will, maybe the effect of the gloomy weather, and somewhat terrifying.

The man looks at Will and smiles politely. The gesture makes the man’s face seem younger and gentler, though anyone could still notice the wrinkles and small scars, yet it still evokes uneasiness in Will.

“Dr Graham?” the man asks; the same voice as on the phone, the same heaviness and same accent.

“Yes. And you are Mr Lecter I presume?”

“That’s exactly right.”

Again. The polite smile, not wide but still there, spreading the man’s lips.

“Please, come in.” Will says as he opens the main door.

The men step inside the waiting room and Will shows Lecter a hanger to leave his coat on. Graham opens the door to his office and points at the chair for the man to sit in.

“Would you mind if I looked around a little?” Lecter asks and Will opens his palm to indicate for the man to feel free to explore the room.

While Lecter moves swiftly around the place, Will observes the man from his chair. He takes his notebook and pretends to be busy with marking something but he secretly memorises the man’s movements and tries to figure out the man before he even speaks about his problems.

There is something confident yet shy about the way Lecter makes his next steps. As if he was trying to remember where he left hidden traps long ago. He stops by a painting on the wall and stands silently for a moment there.

Will is slowly getting annoyed with the man’s behaviour but he says nothing. He lets Lecter turn on his heel and finally take a seat in the chair opposite Will.

“You have to forgive me but your office is decorated in a very specific way. You may call it a flaw of mine but whenever I am somewhere new I tend to pay attention to everything and analyse motives behind every, even the smallest, detail.”

“Well then you have something of a psychiatrist in you.” Will observes, his voice smooth and calm.

“No. I fix bodies rather than minds. I’m a surgeon at the hospital, next to the library.” Lecter explains.

“Oh. So you’re a doctor?” Lecter nods. “And what made you first see a therapist?”

“Well, as you can imagine, as a surgeon I try my best to help people with injuries and sometimes I even need to save someone’s life. I work shifts at the emergency room from time to time. It’s a great responsibility but I’m elated when I know someone didn’t die thanks to me. And then again there are those who you can’t save, no matter how hard you try. That’s why I started seeing a psychiatrist.”

“You face difficulties dealing with death on your operating table?”

“Difficulties is not the word I’d use.” Lecter corrects and Will is tempted to frown but he’s a professional.

“What other word would you use?”

“Let’s say I see something different than a dying body. And it made me uncomfortable the first time I realised it.”

“It doesn’t bother you anymore?” Will asks, the notebook open on his knees, waiting.

“No.” a simple answer that could render a person speechless and terrified.

Graham nods and looks at the blank page before him.

“Was dr du Maurier your first therapist?”

“No. She was the forth.”

Will is this man’s fifth therapist. Why? And why did dr du Maurier refer Lecter to him? Without his prior knowledge of the fact, no less. Will knows Bedelia; she’s a specialist in her field, always reserved and dealing with her patients with unmistakable care and patience. Why would she resign from this?

“You see, she hasn’t called me yet so I still need time to learn about your case and why exactly she referred you to me.”

“For the same reason the other three therapists referred me – because I wouldn’t ‘open up’.”

This time Will frowns, his body not strong enough to obey his mind at the moment of genuine surprise.

“But that’s the point of the therapy. If you don’t talk about your feelings and fears and experiences, our appointments won’t make sense as well.”

“I didn’t say anything about me not talking about my experiences. I just quoted what the other psychiatrist have said. And what I believe dr du Maurier will say.”

“If you shared your feelings with them, why would they say otherwise?”

“Because they couldn’t read me. I told them everything they needed to know me, to understand me. Who knows, maybe I just struck them as a boring patient.”

“Do you trust me to be able to read you and understand you?” Will asks, feeling goose bumps on his neck.

“Why don’t you at least try?” Lecter says lightly with a charming smile; it seems like his face relaxed.

Will looks at his watch, then at the still blank page on his knees. He stands up, approaches his desk and takes his calendar. He’s aware of Lecter’s eyes on him, when he sits back in his chair and open the calendar.

“I can’t offer you many options but as you said we can meet very early or very late. I don’t mind.”

“That would be fine.”

Will turns the page and reads the hours of his appointments.

“Would once a week be enough?” Graham asks, lifting his gaze at Lecter.

“If that’s all you can do.”

“Let’s meet next Tuesday at eight in the evening. Today is Thursday, I’ll make sure to talk to dr du Maurier till then. And maybe I will find you one more space to fill in my calendar.”

“I’d be grateful.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“…and then Jack Crawford suggested that I’m lying! That Abel Gideon isn’t the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will swallows a mouthful of overcooked steak and looks at the enraged man opposite him.

Dr Frederick Chilton is the head of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and, as he’s Will’s colleague, he occasionally invites Graham over for dinner. The meals are rarely good and the conversations are often unbearably boring or verging on racist, but Will always accepts the invitations, if only to hear the newest rumours or later mock Chilton in Alana’s company.

“Crawford has the best profilers. What if they’re not wrong?” Will asks, sipping on the wine.

“They _are_ wrong. I spent a lot of time on the case with the Ripper and they want to humiliate me, nothing more. But I won’t let them.”

“Does Alana Bloom work with the FBI on this case?”

“No. Crawford only uses her when she agrees to be used. She’s smart. She won’t let anyone wipe their ass with her name.”

Will closes his eyes at the comment. He always perceived Chilton as rude, straightforward and greedy. Greedy for attention and money. So it does sound plausible that dr Gideon is not the real Chesapeake Ripper. And even that Chilton staged the whole thing.

“Well, it seems like a conflict that won’t be solved in the nearest future.”

“Not while Jack Crawford heads the behavioural unit.”

Chilton manages to broach the review of Will’s last article and, of course, he makes a comment vaguely offending Will’s work but there is no point in arguing with the man. He will flatter you when he needs something and he will try to make you feel like mud when he feels strong enough.

“I gather you must be busy since you don’t bother helping the law enforcement or any other organization.”

“My schedule is rather tight. I met a new patient today and I reserved my last empty space for him in my calendar.”

“A new patient, you say? Anything interesting?”

Very, Will thinks. It’s his job to pay attention to his patients but Lecter seems a fairly refreshing case. A cocktail of feigned emotions and slight attempts of manipulation. Lecter pretends to be unbearably honest and open while showing it’s all an act.

“You know I can’t tell you.” Graham smiles.

~~~~~~~~~~

Before Will is about to take a shower, he remembers he was supposed to call dr du Maurier. It’s strange she hasn’t reached him yet because Lecter was her patient up until yesterday.

Graham takes out his cell phone, while unbuttoning his shirt, and dials the woman.

“Good evening, Will.”

“Good evening. I hope it’s not too late?”

“For what?” she asks playfully.

“Um, a patient of yours told me you ended your patient-psychiatrist relationship and that you gave him my number.”

“Lecter, yes. I apologise I didn’t tell you but I honestly believed he would not make that phone call. Have you seen him?”

“I set an appointment for him for a mere twenty minutes, just to figure out the situation. I promised I’d call you to find out more.”

“Do you intend to see him on a regular basis?”

“If he feels the need, then that’s my job. Tell me, why did you, and three other therapists, deny him?”

“I was curious about that myself after the first meeting. Then I gradually started realizing I can’t help him.”

“I like a challenge.” Will says with a smirk and takes off his shirt. “Can I come tomorrow and collect your notes about him? Did you make any during your sessions?”

Will remembers the blank page after the twenty minutes with the man. Normally, he would blame it on his attempt not to startle or stress out the patient. This time was different.

“I have a few pages. What time will you come?”

“Um, around half past six? Does that suit you?”

“Yes. Good night, Will.”


	3. Chapter 3

_The cracking of fire irritates his head, which is hurting like someone was battering it with a hammer. Will is sitting by his table in the dining room and he looks around. It’s late, it’s already dark outside. The only light in the room comes from the candles all over the place._

_The table catches Will’s attention when he sees a plate with a small skull on it. There are about ten other plates, filled with gorgeously-looking food and Will knows he didn’t make that._

_When Graham attempts to lift his hand and try something, he feels his hands are tied behind the chair. Will frowns and at that moment the wendigo walks in with a huge tray. Graham almost pukes when he sees a human leg on the tray, decorated with some leaves and cooked._

_Will closes his eyes and when he opens them, he feels his hands are free. He lifts the knife but, to his own surprise, he doesn’t defend himself and attack the black figure, but slices the leg in front of him._

~~~~~~~~~~

“I collected the notes but I’m not sure if you’re going to gain anything from reading them.” Bedelia says upon placing a file on her table.

Will takes the file and puts it into his bag. He feels how thin it is in his hand and he smiles.

“Peculiar, isn’t he?”

“I’d say he’s a rather cliché patient who wants to outsmart his therapist.”

Graham frowns. Maybe it’s the blinding freshness of Lecter’s case that he’s not yet fed up with the man. But maybe there’s something else? Did Hannibal outsmart Bedelia? Is that why she felt the need to entrust Will with helping Lecter?

“Well, let’s prove him he can’t.” Will says and leaves dr du Maurier’s office.

~~~~~~~~~~

Graham drives to Alana’s house when she doesn’t pick up. He’s not pushy, he doesn’t want to impose; he’s simply concerned. Dr Bloom consults on some cases and is known for working for the FBI. She could be an easy target for the crooked criminal minds.

The lights in the house are off and Will wonders if it’s so late that Alana could be already sleeping. He considers knocking but decides against doing so. He returns home and eats dinner.

After reading the news on his tablet he calls Alana again.

“I’m sorry I haven’t answered before but I’m at Quantico and I was talking to Jack.”

“Oh? A new killer on the loose?”

“The FBI employees may sleep soundly knowing they will never lose their jobs; there will never be a shortage of criminals.”

“That makes our profession valuable as well.”

Graham sits in his chair, a glass of brandy in hand and he listens to Alana’s soothing voice.

“Jack Crawford wanted me to ask you again.”

“How desperate of him.” Will puts down the glass and strokes his thigh. “What makes him think I will agree this time?”

Graham’s amused. Crawford asked Alana a few times to work on the case of the Chesapeake Ripper and she refused repeatedly. The head of the behavioural unit asked also Will, but only once straight to his face; then he decided to use dr Bloom.

“He wants to use the fact that I’m sleeping with you to his advantage?” Alana asks.

Will likes that she’s simple, straightforward, honest. She can easily speak what’s on her mind.

“I thought we were keeping it quiet.”

“We are but I was under the impression that Crawford draws conclusions.”

Will sighs. Crawford is not a stupid man. Desperate, in need of a success, but not blind. He’s had his head wrapped around the Ripper for so long, it became an obsession, a personal vendetta. Will can understand that. But he’s not going to ruin his reputation and connections for this one man.

“He asks me because there was another murder, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And yet Chilton is convincing everyone, including himself, that he has the Ripper in one of his cells.”

“Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

“I read the papers, Alana. I see what he does. He’s not a handbook type. He’s not killing out of revenge or passion. The scenes are brutal but his actions are full of grace and fashion.”

“He’s not going to stop.”

“No. But I can’t help. He’s not easy to define. He’s sophisticated and smart. And I don’t want the FBI to brag about working with me so that he can see my name in the morning paper and make me his next target.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday comes quicker than Will would imagine. The weekend was full of phone calls and negotiations. Graham’s article caused a stir in the field of psychology and the reviews made it clear that the man has a few good points. Will collected congratulations and best wishes on his outing to the opera. He invited dr Bloom to come with him and she accepted but they acted like good friends, no sinful touches or glances between them.

The day passes unbearably slow. It’s been raining for the last few hours and the clouds made it necessary to turn the lights on in his office.

It’s dark outside when his last patient leaves the office and Will rubs his neck before he opens the door to the waiting room, to find Lecter comfortably leaning on his chair.

“Mr Lecter, please, come in.” Will says with a faint smile on his face.

They take their seats opposite each other and Will notices the man’s smirking. He’s considering whether he should start the conversation and he wants to laugh at the stupid thought that never in his career as a psychiatrist was he so clumsy.

“Long day?” Lecter says first and Will blinks. “Forgive me but I couldn’t help but notice you seem rather tired. The slight redness under your eyes and slow movements. As a doctor I see these things.”

“Right.” Will opens his notebook and lifts his gaze at the man opposite him. “I talked to dr du Maurier and she confirmed that you’re no longer her patient. I read her notes she made during your sessions and I am willing to be your new psychiatrist. As long as you find me a suitable replacement.”

“As long as you take your job seriously.”

“I always do. So… Tell me, has anything happened since we last met, that you want to talk about?”

“Nothing I wouldn’t be already familiar with.”

Not an easy type, this man.

“You said last time that it made you uncomfortable, seeing your patient die for the first time.”

“No, I said that seeing something different than a dead body made me uncomfortable.” Lecter corrects and offers a polite smile “I noticed you weren’t making notes and I partly appreciate it because it makes a patient more relaxed and open. But it also makes you look unprofessional.”

Graham frowns at the man and then simply blinks. He’s above that. He nods in acknowledgement and apologizes.

“That will never happen again. All right, so what do you see instead of a dead body?”

“Have you ever seen a dead body? Or a person dying? Holding to their last breath like it’s… like it’s their last breath.”

“I’ve seen a few crime scenes.”

“In the papers?”

“Yes.”

“Probably not as spectacular as if you were there.”

“Spectacular enough for me.”

“Are you sensitive to this kind of thing? Does death make you uncomfortable?”

“You’re here to talk about you. My opinions and beliefs don’t matter during our meetings.”

“And afterwards?” Will is thrown off balance. “I read you last article. Very impressive.”

“Thank you. Are you interested in psychiatry?”

“It served rather as a research.”

Graham nods and looks at the notebook on his legs. Still blank. He needs to start writing things down or he’ll be scolded again. Will withholds a smile at the thought and scribbles something unimportant.

“We’ve gone off track. What do you see when you look at the patients you couldn’t save? Do you feel guilty?”

“No.” Simple as that. “It’s not my fault they’re dead.”

Will is confused. He believed that was exactly the reason for Lecter’s therapy – because he feels guilty when someone dies on his operating table.

“Do you believe in an afterlife, dr Graham?”

Will blinks. He looks at the man in front of him and feels genuinely annoyed. It’s like Bedelia said: the man is trying to outsmart his psychiatrist. He’s trying to turn the table and make the sessions about the therapist. Will is not falling for that.

“We’re not here to discuss my beliefs.” He says calmly. “This hour belongs to you.”

“I’m wondering if you believe death is the ultimate border.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“I believe the people who die on my operating table are not flesh, but light, and air, and colour.”

Graham feels like in a psychiatric ward of Chilton’s hospital. Where is this conversation going?

“You mean, like a soul leaving the body?”

Lecter smiles in the other chair. There’s something in the man’s white sharp teeth and in the red sparks glistening in his eyes.

“Is that how you earned your reputation? Playing coy psychiatrist who constantly asks ‘How does that make you feel?’” Hannibal asks bluntly. “I read your works, I know you have a brilliant insight. You know what I mean.”

Graham looks at his watch, a fairly rude thing to do, like he was not interested in his patient’s problems. He leans in his chair and relaxes a bit. He crosses his legs, similar to Lecter. They look like a mirrored version of themselves, excluding the clothes. Will is wearing a suit and a tie, while Hannibal a shirt and a sweater – a rather casual design.

“You want me to reassure you there’s nothing wrong with being fascinated by death?” Will asks lightly and Lecter smiles.

“What’s the time, dr Graham?”

“We have twenty more minutes.”

Lecter nods and looks around the room. Will almost can’t stand the man’s pretentiousness and wonders what nightmares awaits him tonight. He’s gotten used to dark symbols and the worst scenarios but there’s always something that manages to surprise him and beat the last.

“Are you afraid of death, dr Graham?”

Will hesitates. Should he answer and expect an equally honest answer or should he ask his own question and hope the man will cooperate?

“I’m still relatively young.” Graham decides to use humour.

“Younger than me.” Lecter observes. “But that doesn’t exclude the possibility of dying tomorrow.”

Is the man threatening him now? What is this?

“Are _you_ concerned about such a possibility?” Will acts calm.

“I’ve always found the idea of death comforting. The thought that my life could end at any moment frees me.”

Will remembers all those dreams where he’s escaping death, where he runs for his life and where, sometimes, he wakes up not knowing if he made it.

“Without death we’d be at a loss. It’s the prospect of death that drives us to greatness.” Graham observes.

Lecter offers a warm smile and a glint in his eyes. That was the kind of answer he was expecting, or maybe hoping for.

~~~~~~~~~~

Will lies in his bed, shirtless, tablet in hand. He reads the news and the articles on tattlecrime.com. The facts on the website are manipulated but Will enjoys checking how far the authors are willing to go to prove their point.

The night is chilly but the fire gives out enough warm for Graham to wear only his pyjama pants. He turns off the tablet and thinks about what Lecter said. He wonders if there was ever a moment when he was afraid of dying, if there was an evening when, just before going to sleep, he felt the fear of his absence on the world.

He’s been taught how to behave in situations like this, when a patient tries to obtain information or manipulate the therapist. Will knows how to deal with Lecter. He won’t be the next psychiatrist who gave up and gave the man a referral.


	4. Chapter 4

_He blinks and he realises he’s looking into the mirror. He doesn’t know how it started but here he is. The smell of blood reaches his nose before he processes what he’s seeing in the silver surface._

_He’s missing a shirt, or any kind of clothes really that could cover the crimson liquid on his smooth chest. It’s dripping. Will wants to puke at the coppery smell and taste in his mouth._

_In an attempt to lift his hand, he finds himself holding something. A knife. The blade is covered in blood as well, screaming that it’s the murder weapon._

_Suddenly, a figure appears in the mirror, somewhere behind Will, and smiles. Graham recognises the black face._

_“Is decency more important than the truth?”_

_Will hears the question and turns away from the mirror. The black figure gone, Graham looks around and sees an unfamiliar bathroom; he’s never been here before. There’s nobody else in the room and Will goes to explore the place. He sees a door to the bedroom and catches a glimpse of a silhouette lying on the bed, sleeping. Will can easily hear the light snoring._

_Where is he?_

~~~~~~~~~~

The milk is not fresh anymore so he pours it into the sink and looks for a carton of orange juice. He eats an omelette and checks his calendar for any events taking place on the nearest future. He’s taking off his satin robe when his phone rings.

“Dr William Graham speaking.”

“Good morning, dr Graham. It’s Jack Crawford.”

Will sighs. What this time? And why the sudden personal touch?

“I suppose you might know why I’m calling.”

“Dr Bloom told me you asked her to persuade me into something I already refused to do.”

“We need you opinion on this case. Professional or otherwise. Please, time is not on our side.”

“I don’t think I can help you. I’m following the Ripper’s ‘achievements’ in the press and it’s honestly very difficult-”

“We keep some details out of the press. If you were willing to just come by to my office, we could discuss the conditions of your involvement.”

“There is no involvement.”

“So you’re not going to do anything to help the police catch the guy and you’re going to watch his next victims in the press.”

Graham knows the strategy; it’s supposed to evoke sympathy. He’s supposed to give up easily, break under the pressure like an old bridge. But he doesn’t feel like breaking. Maybe he simply doesn’t care? Maybe the photos of the victims don’t shock him enough?

“I don’t mean to act stubborn. And I don’t mean for you to keep begging me until I graciously agree to help. It’s not what this is about.”

“And there is no way for me to persuade you?”

“No. If I decide to get involved, I’ll let you know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

As previously settled, Will is going to meet Lecter for the next appointment on Friday. Friday and Tuesday it is.

Graham already prepares mentally to their conversation and wonders which strategy he should use with the stubborn patient. He can’t continue answering the man’s questions because it’s not he who pays for the therapy.

Will decides to wear something more intimidating than the last time and chooses a dark blue suit and a light blue shirt. He combs his hair slightly differently and applies a very expensive aftershave.

The day can be described as strange. Will meets with Alana for lunch but the woman acts a bit cold and Graham feels a note of resentment. Later, he gets a phone call from Chilton, asking if he agreed to cooperate with the FBI. Will of course denies because, hell no, he’s not going to take the blame if he was wrong about the Ripper.

At five minutes till seven Graham sits by his desk and checks his calendar. He is about to open the door and see if Lecter’s already arrived, when his phone buzzes. Alana.

“I’m having another patient in a few minutes. Can you call me later?” Will asks and wonders, maybe it’s because he’s distant that the woman decided to back off a little from their arrangement.

“I thought you end at seven. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, the Ripper killed one of your patients, Will.”

“How do you know?”

“Crawford. It’s the second victim this month. The Ripper is active again.”

A painful and somewhat resigned sigh leaves Will’s mouth.

“Can I ask for your advice?”

“Naturally.”

“What would you do in my place? Should I talk to Crawford?”

“You could go under false pretence to help them figure out why the Ripper chose your patient. You have intimate knowledge of him.”

Will looks at his watch and then at the door.

“Thank you, Alana. For letting me know and for the advice.”

Graham opens the door for Lecter and sees changes on the other side as well. The man is wearing a dark blazer and a purple shirt underneath. His trousers are also dark, a shade of brown. Will has to refrain from snorting, and he offers a warm smile instead. They sit in the chairs opposite each other and Will cannot help but think how strange they must look like and how odd is the whole situation: they both overdressed for a therapy session.

This time Will acts more confident and knows what he wants to ask.

“What made you study medicine?”

Lecter seems amused and the playful smile on his face says it all. The man has a tendency, that Will noticed, to behave a bit like a cat.

“I was fascinated by the human body. I wanted to know all about it, discover every single cell and its purpose.”

“it requires lots of mental strength to look at the corpses and internal organs in jars filled with formaldehyde.”

“But it gives you the knowledge where to cut to cause the least pain. Or how to angle the scalpel to kill someone in a blink of an eye.”

Will blinks. It’s the second time he talks to the man and finds a threat in Lecter’s words.

“Have you ever used this knowledge? I mean,-”

“I’ve never done anything other than help the patient on my operating table.” Lecter explains.

Will nods and writes down something in his notebook. His collection of observations about Lecter seems unlikely to outdo dr du Maurier’s file.

“Has something happened?” Lecter asks, feigning concern.

“What gave it away?” Will seems rather amused than shocked.

“The outline of your shoulders. You hide them well under a very nice suit but for an observant eye it’s not difficult to spot the tension.”

“I’ll try hiding it better the next time; I don’t want my observant patients to get distracted.”

Lecter narrows his eyes and smirks. It’s like a match between them. There seems to be no therapeutic value to these sessions.

“What made you become a psychiatrist?” Lecter asks, smoothing the crease on his trousers, when he changes position in the chair.

Will feels it again, the annoying buzzing in his head, telling him to stop this nonsense. He looks at his watch and then back at Lecter.

“It’s been ten minutes and you’re trying to do my job for me.”

“I apologise. It’s just difficult for me to talk, knowing it’s a one way relationship. I consider it fair that if I say something, you say something back. Don’t you think it’s a more familiar arrangement?”

“Perhaps you’re looking for a friend, not a therapist.”

Gotcha. Suddenly, Will realises that’s the problem with the man. He needs a friend to talk and that will solve the problem.

“Perhaps. But the people I’ve met so far don’t stand up to my level of thinking.”

“So you assumed searching for a friend among the psychiatrists is the solution?”

“I only hoped for a conversation.”

Standing up to his ‘level of thinking’. Graham looks at his desk. He’s considering whether he should tell the man their little affair is over or if he could continue meeting him. Will is not interested in a friend; he has enough. And he’s not interested in this man’s morbid fantasies.

“I don’t find you that interesting. We can continue the sessions only if you find a good reason. I’m not eager to waste my time on someone who wants to pay me for satisfying his need for a conversation.”

Will knows he’s being harsh but that seems the best treatment for the man.

“Isn’t loneliness a good reason? Help me overcome mine.”

Will wants to groan. He’s on the verge or kicking the man out but he swore he wouldn’t give up easily.

“Fine. I have plenty of patients who struggle with loneliness.”

“And is your therapy with them successful?”

“As with other patients. I can help if a person lets me. It doesn’t matter what the problem is as long as a patient is willing to cooperate.”

“Why don’t _you_ cooperate?” Lecter asks and Will frowns slightly “I often read about psychiatrists working with the law enforcement. I believe you’re a valuable asset. And yet I couldn’t find any information about your involvement with any case.”

“You’re a very intrusive patient.”

“I prefer the word ‘curious’.” Lecter offers a charming smile.

“Quid pro quo?” Graham proposes and Lecter nods. “I’m busy enough and I believe there are other psychiatrists who can offer as much insight as I could.”

“I don’t believe that to be true.”

“Your turn. I assume you’re not married,” Lecter nods. “but how about your colleagues at work? Is there no one you particularly like? No one you could talk to, call from time to time?”

“I think you misunderstood me. I talk to people and I occasionally go for a drink. But I’m bored with those trivial conversations. I don’t care about a new tv show or about someone’s new lover. I want more than that. I want to explore and expand.”

Will looks at the notebook on his legs and writes down something. Slowly, the movement of his hand seems dreamy and unfocused. He wants something more, too. He feels how the routine crept into his life and he hasn’t noticed it before. Patients, occasional sex (not that it’s bad, just… there’s no attachment and he’s aware he’ll get bored with this one day and may hurt Alana, resent her), lonely breakfasts and dinners with colleagues, half of whom he considers pathetic and the other half morons. And he doesn’t expect any changes.

Will lifts his hand to rub a soft flesh right under his left eye.

“Don’t you crave change?” Lecter asks, interrupting Will’s thoughts. “Don’t you crave the rush of adrenaline that you pretend to be afraid of? What do you do at nights to satisfy this need?”

“What do you do to get rid of the dull ache caused by loneliness?”

“I think it’s a topic for another time. It’s almost eight and I wouldn’t want to impose on your daily routine and busy schedule.”

Will looks at his watch and then at the notebook. Barely two sentences. He gets lost in the game between Lecter and himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later in the evening Will is about to change into a pair of pyjamas but he hesitates. He considers calling Alana, to distract himself, forget about this nonsense that his new patient is. The phone in his hand is enough but Will puts it on his bedside table and lies down on the bed. It’s a simple desire, an attempt to release the tension and then flee. Will does not count on a proper romantic relationship with Alana. Has he ever?

He’s being irrational, he knows this. He needs to get Lecter out of his head.

Graham turns on his tablet and enters a website showing the prices of the shares he holds. Suddenly, a realization sinks in that _this_ is what he does at night to get a taste of the adrenaline Lecter talked about. He invests his money (some of it, not all, he’s not stupid or reckless) and watches the percentages and colourful post grow or decline.

Will turns off the tablet and reaches for a glass of whiskey on his bedside table. He likes the way the burning liquid tickles his throat. He rubs his eyes; he’s tired but not sleepy.

Maybe he could…? His hand creeps under the duvet and moves along his hip.


	5. Chapter 5

_His limbs feel heavy. He opens his eyes and stretches on a huge bed underneath. The walls are not familiar, the room oddly dark and not his own. He doesn’t want to get up, he just turns his head on the pillow and looks at the door._

_A tall, slim figure walks in and Will blinks. The damn Wendigo. Why the hell can’t he dream about a normal person?_

_The figure stands in the doorframe and looks at Will. Suddenly, he feels a weight next to him so he turns his head to see what is lying beside him. A person is facing away from Will but he knows it’s a man. He moves his hand to touch the person, maybe wake him up or…_

_He quickly withdraws the hand when he hears a groan. The curtains in the windows rustle and Will feels the chilly air fill the room. He shivers and notices the man shift on the bed. Graham spots the unmistakeable outline of greying hair and his lips part in silent horror._

~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up from a bad dream has never been so ugly.

Will looks at his pyjama top, but doesn’t really have to, to see it drenched in sweat. His hair is a mess and he feels something drip from his chin. When he moves his finger to investigate, it turns out to be blood from his lips that he bit, without even knowing, during the night.

The clock on his bedside table says almost five in the morning and he supposes that’s as a decent time to get up as six.

He takes a shower and puts on fresh clothes. He cannot quite remember now what he was dreaming about but he knows it was terrifying. Will often needs a trigger to recall the nightmare.

He decides that he will spend his free time between the appointments at Quantico. He’ll offer the insight and maybe catch a glimpse of unpublished materials about the Ripper. He can work him out quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m glad you decided to get involved in this case.” Jack says upon shaking Will’s hand.

“I’m not here to consult on the Ripper, and if I ever was, I wouldn’t want that to be public.”

Graham sits in the chair Crawford points to him and looks around the room. A simple desk, with a pile of files and photos and documents, and one or two trinkets. No photo frame.

The walls are painted a rather calm colour but Will can’t imagine spending here more than twenty minutes.

Jack hands him a file of the last victim, Will’s patient, and waits. Apparently, he decides giving the man some time would be the best idea.

The man was cut in half, his head and internal organs missing. Will recognises the former patient when he spots a scar on the right hand. What was the Ripper’s purpose in taking the head? What is his idea behind the murders? Clearly, he doesn’t do it for fun or to satisfy any need. There is something more to that.

“He was found in his office, in his house.” Jack prompts.

“Have you checked what cases he was working on?”

“Yes. Mostly small things, petty crimes. Do you think the Ripper killed him out of revenge?”

“No. That’s not his pattern. I’m afraid there may not even be one. If he has a motive, you’ll find it. If he chooses his victims randomly, then it will be difficult to catch him.”

“I could give you a copy of all the files. I’m certain you’d come up with something if you spent even ten minutes every day reading them.”

Will makes a grimace and hopes he doesn’t seem too rude.

“I can agree to take a copy but I don’t want any more calls. If I find something, I’ll let you know. I don’t want to be associated with this case.”

“I understand. Well…if you will wait here, I’ll bring you that copy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Will spends the evenings looking through the files. At the beginning he’s sceptical about his involvement with the FBI, but then he unconsciously memorises the names and the cases. Horrible images come to his mind in the least convenient moments and he’s getting afraid it’s too late to back out.

On Thursday night, Graham is sitting on Alana’s bed, naked and sweaty.

She invited him to talk about something, he doesn’t even remember what now, and they ended up making out in the living room. He was relieved to see she’s still eager to have sex with him, even though she’s been acting a little distant lately. Maybe she realised that there’s no point in pouting and just better to take what is given?

The bed shook underneath them as he thrust again and again. He wasn’t at all surprised when she changed position and started riding him to oblivion. This time it was her who collapsed on him and Will encircled her shoulders with his strong arm.

Graham spends the days in his office but occasionally he visits the local swimming pool. The muscles in his body don’t resemble the ones of young men who work out to impress women but he can’t complain about his shape.

He’s sitting now, after maybe two hours of sleep, and he rubs his eyes. Another bad dream haunted him and he tries to remember what it was about. Maybe he should resign from helping Crawford. His enough busy mind doesn’t need another distraction.

A quiet sigh catches his attention and he turns his head toward Alana, lying beside him. She’s not asleep anymore, she’s looking at him and he rubs his neck.

“What is it?” Alana asks softly, her voice somewhat weak.

“Just a bad dream. Don’t worry.”

Alana chuckles and shifts on the bed. She sits up behind Will and puts her hands on his shoulders.

“Let me analyse it.” Alana whispers in Will’s ear.

His shoulder tense and he groans. Maybe it’s only a joke, a playful invitation to a round two. But he takes it seriously and stands up from the bed.

“I’ll go. I need to take a shower and I wouldn’t like to bother you with my nightmare.”

“You can shower here. I don’t mind. I don’t mind your nightmares; everyone has them from time to time.”

She’s trying to be reassuring, he knows that. But it doesn’t help and he feels worse and worse with every second. He picks up his clothes and dresses up. In a minute he’s ready to leave but and she simply watches him.

“Will, I’m always happy to see you and I don’t mind this being a casual thing but don’t treat me like a cheap shag. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to but don’t leave now like I’m your personal slave that you visit whenever you like and use me however you like.”

Graham is really hurt by the words. He’s aware they carry some grain of truth and he hates being this guy: a guy who takes and gives nothing in return. He turns back and looks at Alana. There are a few options. He can either stay, maybe explain what is bothering him. Or he may leave now and accept the fact that she’ll never speak to him again.

How can he say he respects her if he’s aware he’s using her? How can he look her in the eye and say he looks up to her?

He’s already dressed. He steps closer to her and sits on the bed again. They are facing each other and she suspects what he’ll say so she’s ready to just go back to sleep any second.

“If I invited you for dinner tomorrow - no sex - just conversation and food, would you forgive me if I left now?”

“Why would I? You want to buy my confidence with a dinner? You think it will make me feel better?”

Graham sighs. His eyes wander to the window and he wonders if he overreacted.

“I never told you about my nightmares. I don’t you to analyse them, I don’t want you to know about them.”

“I won’t. You don’t have to tell me now. Just don’t treat me like I’m your sex toy.”

Will nods. He didn’t want that; he was afraid of that day. When she realizes their arrangement doesn’t head towards anything serious and when he hurts her.

“I talked to Jack.”

“And?”

“He gave me the files of the Ripper’s murders. I’ve been trying to figure him out, I wanted to find a motive, a connection, anything. I wanted to be useful.”

She strokes his arm. It’s after midnight and she may be slightly disoriented after being aroused from her sleep so she absent-mindedly draws conclusions and asks a question Graham doesn’t want to be asked.

“Is that why you have the nightmares? Because you saw the photos of the crime scenes?”

“No. I’ve had nightmares for a long time. Long before the Ripper.”

“Never with me. I never saw you in such state.”

“I never woke you. Not until tonight.”

She smells his sweat and wonders if that’s how their relationship would look like: him waking in the middle of the night, not telling her about his dream but rather slowly close, never letting her in. She doesn’t want that. It’s understandable a person may want to have privacy and there are things we’d rather not tell but…

“You can leave. I won’t be mad.”

“Should I call you in the morning?”

“You should. We need to talk. When we’re both rested.”

He strokes her forehead, too ashamed to kiss it, and stands up from the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The road is slippery, it’s been raining for the last few hours. The only light comes from the street lamps every few meters and the car. Will is driving through the woods, fairly slowly, which makes him able to spot a silhouette by the road. Graham hits the brake, unsure whether he should stop.

The closer he gets, the clearer the image. Will stops a few meters away from the person and takes out his phone and a small bottle of pepper spray, just in case. He’s aware that the Ripper is active and with so many murders recently, one can never be too careful.

The man is shaking and taking slow, small steps towards Will, who, with every second, spots another detail. Clothes drenched in crimson, greying hair, tall, slim posture.

“Will you, please, help me?” the man says and a green light in Will’s mind goes off, indicating his suspicions were correct.

“Dr Lecter?”

The man lifts his head and Will sees. The red sparks in the man’s eyes, the white teeth revealed by his parted plump lips. Lecter smiles faintly and makes another step, the last before he would crush into Will.

“What happened?” Graham asks, slightly trembling, terrified.

“Can you take me home?” Lecter pleads and almost falls into Will’s arms.

“Get in the car.”

Lecter seems guilty about sitting in Will’s car, dripping with blood; he will definitely stain the seat. Will notices the man’s hesitation but doesn’t say anything. He sits in the driver seat and looks at Lecter.

“What happened?”

“I killed someone.”


	6. Chapter 6

“What? What do you mean, you killed someone?”

Will stirs in his seat and feels awake enough already. He looks at Lecter, at his coat and face, his cheeks and hand covered in blood. Graham can’t help but remember his dream when he looked exactly the same, minus the clothes. And he can’t help but feel the rush of adrenaline playing with his body and mind and telling him that Lecter is absolutely beautiful  – carnal, somewhat primitive, at the mercy of instinct.

It’s exactly at this moment when Lecter stops pretending. He relaxes and takes out a packet of tissues to wipe his hands from the drying blood.

“I made someone stop breathing, stop pumping blood to and from the heart.”

Will rubs his forehead and moves his hand through his hair. He’s so confused he can’t think rationally.

“Why?”

“Because they didn’t deserve the luxury.”

It’s late, or someone could say it’s early, and Will doesn’t have the strength to comprehend what is being said to him. Does Lecter believe he’s God? That he can simply decide whether or not someone deserves to live?

The police! Will should call the police. There’s someone dead in the woods.

“I’m so glad the world let you, of all the people, find me. That way I won’t have to lie.” Lecter says before Will has a chance to ask another question.

“Why would you lie to anyone else?”

“Because that’s what I’ve been doing for quite some time.”

“Lying?” Will blindly hopes that’s what Lecter means.

“Killing.”

Will’s pupils widen and he looks away. He’s trying to think what he should do. It doesn’t have to be his problem. He only noticed the man on the road. He can be honest about it.

“Did you leave any prints?” Will asks, calm.

Lecter smiles at him and reaches for Graham’s pockets in his pants. Will tries to escape the bloody hand but, still shocked, looks at the man next to him, who takes out Will’s phone and hands it to Graham.

“Call the police.” Lecter says.

Will blinks. What is he supposed to say?

“Call them and tell them the truth. You found a man on the side of the road, he is covered in blood, he’s trembling. He says he killed someone.”

Will types in the number but looks at Lecter. Is that all? This is, somehow, the truth, but Lecter confessed he killed this man because he believed he didn’t deserve to live. Should he tell that, too? And he’s his patient, for God’s sake. There is a law stating Graham can’t talk about his patients.

Will calls the police and informs a slightly tired lady on the phone about everything. He says exactly what happened, exactly what Lecter advised him to say.

“Now what?” Will asks.

“We wait.” Lecter says calmly, probably also amused by the whole situation. “Isn’t that what the officer told you to do?”

It is. There was a question if Lecter is armed and dangerous but Will told the lady that he knows this man and that he was probably defending himself.

Graham looks at Lecter and snorts. It’s night, it’s dark outside and they sit in his car, in the middle of nowhere, one of them drenched in blood after having killed someone. Just another Thursday night.

“Take it off. It’s wet and you’re staining the seats.” Will tugs at Lecter’s cuffs.

“I’ll pay for the cleaning.” Lecter says but takes off the coat nevertheless.

He puts it on his knees and looks at his therapist. It’s obvious Will has a lot of questions but it’s all so… grotesque? He tries to keep his composure and Hannibal is proud and impressed.

“How many of your former psychiatrists know your little secret?”

“You’re the first person I told.”

The first _person_. So he hasn’t told _anyone_.

“Why me?”

“You found me.”

This doesn’t explain anything. This seems so coincidental, almost impossible to happen.

“You could have lied, like you were supposed to. Like you were prepared to.”

“Would you rather if I lied?” The question is rhetorical and Will parts his lips to quickly close them. “I believe you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself. It was a matter of time.”

“I can’t tell anyone.” Will whispers, mainly to himself.

“I know.”

“This is blackmail.”

“How? Neither of us is paying the other one to keep a secret.”

“Blackmail nonetheless.”

“I actually want to tell you more. If you were willing to listen.”

Graham snorts again. They have session together, of course he’ll listen. Naturally, he could give Lecter a referral but… No. He has to work it out. He promised himself… And now it’s personal.

The blue and red light of the police car interrupts their conversation and they get out of the car. Lecter starts trembling because he’s wearing only a shirt and the night is cold. Will rolls his eyes and reaches for a sweater in his bag on the backseat. He hands it to the man without the minutest concern that it will get stained as well.

Two police officers approach Graham and Lecter and starts questioning the man. Will tries to eavesdrop what excuse Lecter has prepared for his nightly activity. The story sounds fairly plausible, if he’s being honest and Will can see why the officers fall for it.

Will is let go and the officers tell they will take care of Lecter. Graham will get a call to confirm the statement at the precinct.

He’s free to go. One last glance at the shaken man feigning to be barely able to speak, but still keeping his composure as he’s a medical doctor. And a great actor, apparently.

~~~~~~~~~~

How is he supposed to go to sleep?

Will shifts on the bed again and looks at his cell phone. Almost four in the morning. He has to get up at six. The house is so quiet and for the first time in a very long time he wishes there was someone he could talk to right now, someone present in the house who could hold him.

Will shakes his head and puts it on the pillow. His arms are tight around him and he closes his eyes. He’s afraid he won’t be able to get rid of the image of Lecter’s glistening red eyes from his brain.

Slowly, the adrenaline gives in and Will falls asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

_He’s bending over a body of a man. Will looks around and sees a shape of trees and bushes. It’s difficult because it’s dark, it’s probably night time. He feels a hand on his shoulder so he turns his head._

_A black figure stares at him as if waiting for something. Will breathes heavily and tries to figure out what happened. The Wendigo’s head changes and now Will sees Lecter. Graham swallows, still feeling the man’s hand on his shoulder._

_Lecter smiles at him and then moves his hand to stroke Will’s hair._

_“Good job.”_

_Instead of part in shock, Will’s lips actually curl into a smile. He turns to look down at the dead body lying in front of him. The victim’s throat was cut and only now does Will feel the blood dripping from his shirt. He lifts his hand and sees a knife covered in drying liquid. He’s responsible._

~~~~~~~~~~

Graham wakes up with the alarm clock and groans. How the hell is he supposed to stand the whole day of people whining about their problems when he barely slept and still feels the coppery smell of blood, not to mention his car is still stained. He’ll have to drive to a garage and go to his office by taxi.

During lunch he remembers he was supposed to call Alana. In the morning. At least he has a good excuse why he didn’t.

“Yes?” Alana’s voice is distant and her tone indicates she’s in the middle of something.

“Hello, Alana. I’m terribly sorry I’m calling just now but there was an incident, when I was returning from your house, and I barely slept, I still don’t-”

“What incident?”

“I spotted a man on the side of the road, he turned out to be my patient. He… we had to call the police. He said he killed someone.”

Alana is silent on the other end of the line. Will supposed a wave of shock flows through her.

“I think it was self-defence, I’ll find out more today. I still have to go to the precinct.”

“Do you want me to come? Maybe you should cancel your appointments for today? Or I could replace you?”

“No, I’ll manage. Thank you. I cancelled my appointments for tomorrow. It’s only two patients; I will find an hour during the week to compensate.”

“All right. I’m free from six so if you need anything, call me.”

“Thank you, Alana.”

Will goes to the precinct to sign the printed version of his statement and then he returns to his office. He sits in his chair and closes his eyes. He’s so tired, even the horrible images forming in his brain won’t stop him from falling asleep.

A repeated knocking on the door is what makes him wake up. He rubs his eyes and looks at his watch. Time for the next appointment.

Till seven it’s completely dark outside and Will turns on the lamps. He opens the door for Lecter, hoping the man didn’t show up so that he could go home and sleep.

Will finds Lecter in the waiting room, impeccably dressed, not at all looking tired or concerned with what happened last night. He greets Will and the men sit in the chairs opposite each other.

“No need to be observant to see you’ve had a long night.” Lecter says and Will groans softly.

He must be really exhausted and not care because otherwise he wouldn’t allow himself act so unprofessional. Will looks at Lecter and remembers his coat, his hands, his face, all covered in blood. Graham wonders if it was real or it was one of his bad dreams. Everything started to blur lately.

“Is it easy, being a compulsive liar?” Will asks.

“I believe I’m as honest as I can. Sometimes even you have to manipulate the facts not to look guilty of something.”

“Did the police buy your version of events?”

Lecter seems amused. His lips are folded in a smile but his eyes are focused on Graham, slightly narrowed.

“I didn’t lie about what happened. I just didn’t tell them the real reason why it happened.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Lecter crosses his legs and relaxed in his chair. He continues staring at Will, at his shoes, sweater, his tired face.

“I was supposed to meet with a man. I asked him to take me to a hotel or someplace nice. Instead, he drove me to the woods. He assaulted me, I had to defend myself. We fought and I left him unconscious. Or rather I didn’t left him. I didn’t _have to_ kill him. I needed to.”

“Did the act satisfy your need?”

“What do you think?” Lecter tilts his head.

“Is there any more significant reason other than the need of spilling blood?”

“You’re still mistaken, Will. I didn’t kill him because I felt the need to see the blood on my hands.”

“Then why?”

“I already told you why. Were you listening to me?”

Of course he was. He may be exhausted and dreaming of the soft bed but he’s not rude and that’s his job – to listen to people.

Rude… The man drove Lecter to the woods instead of the hotel. He assaulted him, probably going for more than Lecter wanted to offer. Wait, is he gay? Was that supposed to be a one night stand? Where did…

“They’re rude. You believe they don’t deserve to breathe.” Will observes.

Lecter smiles. Yes. Graham worked him out. The clues were here all along and now he has the whole picture.

Picture. Will remembers the photos from the Ripper’s crime scenes. The victims were missing one or more internal organs. One was missing the head. He didn’t deserve it.

Will’s head is pounding, there’s too many thoughts flowing through his brain all at once.

“You’re the Chesapeake Ripper.” Graham says quietly and sighs.


	7. Chapter 7

Lecter’s eyes glisten dangerously and his smile turns into a proud smirk.

“I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

Maybe it’s the tiredness or maybe Will simply stopped caring. He doesn’t act afraid or disgusted; he wants to know more, wants to know why. What happened that Lecter is this way?

Will chuckles. He realises what him knowing the truth means. When Graham looks at Lecter, he sees the maroon eyes bore into him with curiosity.

“Do you remember how I never cooperated with the law enforcement?” Will asks and Lecter nods. “Well, I decided to bend my rules a little. A patient of mine was one of your victims and I decided to step in. I wanted to help. And now I’ll have to explain that I’m unable to help. Because whatever insight and clues I could offer, I’d be breaking the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Lecter tilts his head and narrows his eyes. The sparks disappear and the man seems to be focusing on something.

“Were you looking for a friend or a confessor who could keep your secrets?” Will accuses.

“Do you want to end our relationship? Will you give me a referral?”

Will looks around the room. He remembers the crimson walls collapse in one of his nightmares. It feels like that’s what’s happening now. His life seems to be turning upside down. There is a killer, a murderer sitting in the chair opposite him and he can’t do anything about it.

“I won’t.”

Lecter looks at Will, offering a warm smile. So it’s settled. They’ll keep seeing each other, twice a week.

Will wonders if that deal will make him safe, if by agreeing to this, he’ll manage to keep his life.

“I’d love to share a few things with you but I know how tired you are. How about you see me tomorrow?”

“I cancelled all my appointments for tomorrow.”

“Oh I didn’t mean an appointment.” Lecter explains and Will frowns slightly. “I’m inviting you for dinner. Tomorrow at five, let’s say?”

“A dinner?” It may be his two hours of sleep or the beginning of some serious illness but he honestly believes he misheard something.

“Yes. I live in the suburbs, I hate the noise of the city. I can write you my address if you’re interested. I believe a slightly less formal ground may be a nice change.”

Will’s eyes widen as he realises something.

“Do you intend to kill me?”

Lecter’s smile turn into a grin. This game between them is terrifying. The man either keeps a straight face and you can’t read him or he offers a smile that can appear as so warm, no one would believe the man is a murderer.

“Will you believe me if I say ‘no’?”

Probably not. But he had so many occasions to kill Will so far, he would have done it already. And Graham is a psychiatrist, for God’s sake. He understands that Lecter needs a friend, someone he can tell his secrets and look for forbearance, if not approval.

“Write down the address.” Graham hands Lecter the notebook and the man quickly leaves the information.

“Five, you said?”

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~

_He’s standing in a huge hall, the floor looks like a chess board. There is a beautiful chandelier above him and two pairs of door in front of him. No carpet, the floor is bare and he is bare. There is nothing covering him but fortunately there’s no one around._

_Will steps closer to the first door and shyly opens it. A small gap allows him to see a burning house and himself escaping it. The fire spreads impossibly fast and Will feels it on his cheeks. He shuts the door quickly and stands close to the wall to cool his face._

_Then, he approaches the second door and hesitates before opening it. A man in a long dark coat holds a shopping bag and Will sees himself cutting tomatoes. There is a bottle of whiskey on the counter, next to a few carrots._

_“I’m so glad you made this decision.” The man says and Will recognises the voice. Lecter._

_The door shuts in front of Will, leaving him without answers. Then both of the doors disappear and the black squares on the floor turn into small screens. Graham sees many different moments from his life and he wonders how he got there. Is this what happens after death? Is he dead?_

_Suddenly, the room is shrinking. Will opens his mouth to scream but he finds them glued; his lips won’t part. What is happening?_

_The walls are coming closer and he spots the Wendigo standing somewhere far. Will starts running towards the figure, he will set himself free. But the faster he runs and the closer he thinks he’s getting, the farther the Wendigo seems to stand. Will extends his hand but the walls are getting unbearably closer to each other._

~~~~~~~~~~

Graham calls Alana at ten. He woke at nine, dressed and ate and he needs someone normal to talk to.

Dr Bloom arrives at eleven and Will takes her for coffee to a near café. He instantly regrets this decision when he spots a pattern on the floor. Like a chess board. The nightmare flashes behind Graham’s eyelids and he wonders if maybe he should find himself a therapist. Should he engage Alana? After he told her he didn’t want to talk to her about his dreams.

They sit in a booth and order a coffee. Alana is wearing dark trousers and a pale red sweater. She looks cosy but fairly formal, Will doesn’t know what to expect.

“It’s such a tough period for me right now.” Will observes and rubs his neck. “I mean, a demanding, difficult patient, the incident, you…”

What about her? Graham sighs and thinks how to cover up this misstatement.

“I mean,-”

“I’m your friend. Don’t count me as one of your problems.”

“I’m sorry. I only meant that I’d love to give you some answers, I’d like to clear the situation between us.”

“The situation is as follows: we like each other and we have sex from time to time. If you don’t hurt me, I don’t hurt you. End of story. Now tell me about the incident.”

Will offers a warm smile. He sometimes feels like he doesn’t deserve such a beautiful friend like dr Bloom. The story he tells, with a decent amount of details, astonishes Alana. Her face changes and she expresses her shock. Will explains how the events really went, according to Lecter, and she nods.

“Quite a coincidence.” Alana observes.

“I know. Impossible.” Will sips on his coffee.

“Well, now your patient will need you even more than before. Be careful not to shut him down”

“Are you teaching me how to do my job?”

Alana laughs. The soothing sound reaches Will’s ears and he feels all the more guilty for being a crappy friend.

~~~~~~~~~~

About fifteen minutes after Will left the his house, he drives up to Lecter’s home. It’s not completely in the middle of nowhere and there are a few other houses in a decent distance. A perfect place to stay away from the noise of the city. A place that offers a nice degree of isolation.

Will parks his car and sees the light coming from the house. The building is not small, it has a second floor. Will wonders if he should have warned someone, just in case, that he’ll be here.

Graham knocks at the door and waits a moment until the man in a white apron opens it and lets Will inside. Lecter wipes his hand in the white cloth and then takes it off.

Will can smell something delicious. He takes off his coat and follows Lecter to the dining room.

“Please, have a seat, and I’ll bring in the dinner.”

Will sits by the table and looks around the room. It’s cosy, it’s painted dark blue and there are a few paintings on the walls. The table and chairs are made of some expensive wood. The cloth on the table has a peculiar fabric. Everything seems to have been chosen with thought and style. There is nothing accidental about anything.

Lecter walks in with two plates on his hands, which he places in front of Will and by the seat opposite him. Hannibal opens a bottle of wine and pours it into the two glasses that were already there.

Will looks at the plates and frowns.

“I see you indulge in culinary arts.”

“I do. As you can imagine I don’t have much time but I always try to prepare meals myself and I put my heart into it.”

Graham is aware that with this man there are always clues and you have to listen very carefully to get the meaning. He’s still somewhat afraid this may be his last supper and, honestly, he wonders if he’s prepared to fight.

Lecter sits opposite Will and lifts his glass.

“To the unexpected and the inevitable.”

Will lifts his glass as well and they clank. Maybe if he obeys the man…

“Since you came to my house and this is not one of our sessions, may I call you Will?”

Graham’s lips part. Isn’t this unprofessional? Should he even be here?

“Yes.”

“Then it’s only fair if you will call me Hannibal.”

What kind of name is it? Were Lecter’s parents obsessed with the Carthaginian leader? Was this supposed to be a joke?

Will takes the first bite and cannot help but close his eyes to taste better the meat melting on his tongue. It’s fantastic, the man certainly has a talent. Will can cook, too, and no one ever complained about his meals, but this, _this_ is perfection.

Lecter sees the delight in Will’s body language and his silence. He needs to hear the compliment nevertheless.

“Is it to your liking?”

“Yes. It’s delicious. Can I ask where you learnt to cook?”

“Thank you and you can. I learnt a bit from my father and a bit from my aunt. The rest involved reading a lot of books and plenty of practice.”

“I’m impressed.”

Lecter’s smile is dangerous: it’s charming, bordering on warm and innocent, yet his eyes add spice to it and Will wonders how could he not figure it out earlier? Most of the psychopaths have charm and general aura around them that makes them so likeable. Why would people fall for them otherwise?

“Tell me, Will, is not breaking the law worth more to you than your own life?”

Graham frowns.

“I can see you’re tense and afraid. You’re still trying to figure out if you’d be able to run faster than me and if you’d be able to free yourself from the ties on your wrists. But you haven’t called the police. Why?”

Will puts down the fork, the knife still in his hand, and he looks at Lecter.

“There’s plenty of reasons why.”

“Is curiosity one of the reasons?”

Will swallows and surrenders. He takes the fork again and resumes cutting the meat on his plate.

“It is.”

They continue the meal in silence, Lecter never leaving Will from his sight. The man seems almost fascinated by Graham and Will has to admit it makes him uncomfortable. But it may be one of his aces. He may use it to his advantage.

“You want to know the motive.” Lecter prompts after a moment.

“I don’t. There is no motive. They are rude – they get killed.”

“You want to know how it started?”

“I want to know how it makes you feel. Do you feel like you make the world a better place?”

“It makes me feel full.” Lecter says with a wicked grin.

Will grimaces and continues eating to keep his mouth busy. Then he realises something. It’s all a game. A game of words, of wit; who will outsmart the other one. Or maybe… Hannibal is looking for an equal. For someone who will finally get the hints and see.

All his dreams, all this… madness that’s been engulfing him lately. He’s not psychic, he can’t see the future. His dreams are nothing of that matter. But maybe they reflect his subconscious suspicions. Maybe he knew all along, just was too afraid to admit.

“You’re eating them, aren’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaand we have a pattern where i leave the setence and cut the episode only to continue it next chapter LOL sorry


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one because i focused on a new fic (one shot) and it was pretty difficult for me to write (i had a mental block with the conversation with Alana :/ )

Lecter’s eyes seem to be burning with hellish fire. He looks at Will’s plate and smiles warmly. Graham is on the verge of fainting. Everything’s clear now. Lecter kills rude people, cooks them and serves to other people. Yet there is something impressive about the idea. The victims are turned into art, into something delicious; they’re finally useful for the society.

Will takes a deep breath and tries to count how many bites he took of the meat. It doesn’t matter. He’s taking another one. Graham’s ice blue eyes meet Lecter’s when Will chews on the piece of meat and it’s strangely intimate and sensual. Lecter swallows and in his maroon eyes a few red sparks appear, a sign of excitement.

“Tell me about your first kill.” Will demands and sips on the wine, in awaiting for the story.

“There’s not much to say. It was a crime of passion, I killed the man out of revenge. But then I understood that’s what I was made for. That’s who I am.”

“Revenge for what?” Will asks and Lecter smirks. “I want to know what was so important or offending that you decided murder was the best course of action.”

“He killed my sister.” Lecter says without hesitation and then takes another bite.

Will almost regrets the question but that’s what Lecter wanted, isn’t it? To be seen, understood. He has to reveal himself in order for Will to see.

There are no more questions about that. It can wait for another time. Will doesn’t inquire about Lecter’s sister and instead asks about the circumstances of the crime. He asks about Lecter’s past, how he managed to get to Baltimore. Lecter answers the questions and seems rather amused, with a few exceptions. He’s honest, or at least that’s what Will thinks, and he doesn’t spare details. Why would he?

Yet for every answer comes a question to Will. Does he have a family? What is his background? What are his dreams?

Funny how Graham can’t think of any particular dream he has and wish to come true. He enumerates a few cliché wishes, like being a good psychiatrist or maybe writing an amazing paper. But they both know that’s not the core of Will’s existence, that’s not what he truly wants.

Surprisingly, after the dessert and a, huh, maybe third glass of wine, Will is let go. Lecter opens the front door for him, thanks for the _lovely evening_ and closes the door after the man. They will see each other in session on Tuesday.

~~~~~~~~~~

Will undresses while heading to the bedroom. He’s tired, more mentally than physically. The shirt lands on the floor in the hall and the pants form a puddle on the bedroom floor. Will goes to the bathroom to take a shower and stands in the cabin for almost fifteen minutes. He leans against the tiles and takes deep breaths.

He doesn’t even put on his shorts, he quickly jumps into bed, naked.

The sheets don’t feel like home, they are cold on his skin but he knows it will change in a moment. Graham curls up into a ball and closes his eyes. He remembers Lecter’s words and wonders if he has any dreams. Maybe he just couldn’t think straight at Lecter’s house with all the knowledge that he probably just ate a human being.

Will’s mind somehow goes straight to Alana’s image but he knows it’s not about that. He’s never wanted a ‘real family’, wife and kid, a white house with a fence. This is not his dream.

Graham wants an escape. Boring patients, long days, boring friends. Maybe he wants the same as Lecter? Someone who would understand his disappointment and dissatisfaction. Someone who would keep an eye on him and tell him it’s fine to be who he is, make choices he makes.

Will sees Lecter behind his heavy eyelids and sighs. Is he going mad or is he finding himself the thing he needed?

~~~~~~~~~~

_He’s lying in bed, next to Alana, and he strokes the woman’s hair. She’s still asleep but he couldn’t find peace. It’s early, Will can see the sun rise through the window. The orange glow makes him squint._

_Suddenly, a man walks into the room, or rather stands in the door frame and stares at Graham. And not any man, the man. Lecter._

_Will smiles, somewhat against his will, and sits up. Only now does he see the crimson stain on the sheets above Alana’s chest. Graham does not leave the bed, startled by the sight, but rather slowly bends over the woman and kisses her temple. She’s already cold and pale._

_Will stands up and approaches Lecter. He takes the man by his arm and together they look at the bed. Then, Lecter turns to Will and buries his nose in his hair. Graham closes his eyes and leads them out of the room. It’s not an appropriate place to…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Will dials Crawford’s number. He’s sitting in the kitchen, on a stool by the counter, after having finished breakfast. It’s Sunday and he spent a few minutes wondering whether he should call the man today. Some people may have more exciting plans for the day than Will and he finally puts down his phone in an act of mercy.

Graham watches the news and considers inviting Alana for dinner. Like a friend. And suddenly he remembers his dream. He remembers seeing the woman’s dead body in his bed. Did he kill her? Will he kill her?

No, this is absurd. Will calls Alana and she agrees to come at four to help with the dinner.

Graham finds a new article about social exclusion and reads it. There is also one review of his own piece that refutes all of his statements and arguments. Normally, he may get a bit frustrated but now he thinks of a bigger picture.

One of his patients is a killer, and not any killer, he’s the Chesapeake Ripper. Graham has the perfect opportunity to explore Lecter’s mind and then present a paper on intelligent psychopaths. It wouldn’t call Lecter by name but it still might turn out helpful in treating such cases.

Will looks through the window and wonders if there even are similar cases.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I think we should stop playing the game of ‘friends with benefits’.” Will says after the dinner.

Alana came at four as she had promised, with a bottle of wine. They prepared dinner together: Alana chopped and sliced the vegetables and Will took care of the meat. They smiled at each other and joked. For a moment Graham forgot about the recent events and let himself have fun.

They ate the dinner, never broaching anything from work, mainly gossiping about Chilton’s last failed attempt at flirting with a new nurse at his hospital. It became a lovely evening and Will even asked Alana to stay a while longer for a drink. He offered her a glass of wine and they sat on the couch in the living room.

Alana doesn’t look at Graham but considers his words.

“Yes. You may be right to end it here and now.”

“I don’t want to hurt you and I can’t imagine our future together. I want you to find someone better and be happy.”

She sips on the wine and smiles at him after a second. He knows he’s doing the right thing, he can’t offer her what she wants or what she may want in the near future. Who knows, maybe he’ll feel the need for something like that one day, but tonight he wants something else completely. He wants to get to know Lecter, and walk away from everything else.

They hug and she leaves his house. They part as friends. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think 2 or 3 more chapters and i'll think on something new because i wouldn't like to torture myself and You xD  
> i hope You still like this

On Tuesday Will feels giddy. He’s excited to see Lecter and he’s not sure whether that’s terrifying or… horrible. He shouldn’t feel this slight dizziness at the thought of exploring the man’s mind.

Graham decided to keep the files of Lecter’s murders and not tell Crawford he’s unable to help. The law states he can’t say anything so he will keep his mouth shut.

He didn’t have any nightmare but he expects to have one after their talk tonight. Should he invite the man over in an act of reciprocity?

His thoughts are interrupted by the clock on the wall rhythmically indicating it’s a full hour. Will opens the door for Lecter and the man smiles at him. Graham can’t help but smile back.

They sit opposite each other, Will with the usual notebook on his legs.

“Are you not afraid you will get caught?” Graham stars, looking at his patient’s trousers.

“No. They haven’t caught me yet and as they lost your insight in the case, their chances get lesser every second.”

Was that a compliment? ‘His insight’ would help them crack the case. But it won’t. This is blackmail all over again because he can’t say anything.

“Do you plan your murders? Do you have anyone as a target right now?”

Lecter closes his eyes in silent amusement and crosses his legs.

“You know I can’t tell you. _That_ you’d be obliged to report to the police.”

Will sighs.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know you’re only asking out of curiosity. But I won’t tell you. I’ll ask _you_ a question, instead.”

Will narrows his eyes and nods, giving a silent permission to proceed.

“Have you ever thought about killing someone?”

Will wants to snort. Who hasn’t? It’s only natural that you tell someone when you’re angry at them that you’d kill them. And sometimes you may even fantasize about doing so. But…

“Of course.”

“And what makes you refrain from committing the act? Is it the law or do you have a moral compass of some sort that keeps you afloat and doesn’t let you drown in the images?”

Will looks at the wall behind Hannibal. He never broke any law, even as a teenager. He was fairly composed and respected the rules. They made him angry sometimes but he managed.

“What would make you stop?” Graham asks, completely abandoning his own answer at the bottom of his mind.

That makes Lecter purse his lips. They are heading nowhere. If no one answers any questions but only poses more, it’ll be a disaster.

“I believe we made a good team last time when you answered my question and then I answered yours.”

“I’m the therapist here.” Will says with a smirk, partly regretting the statement because that, too, was thrown through the window some time ago.

“I don’t think there is any force that would make me stop. At least for the time being. Now you, please. Answer my question.”

There is a pause as Will tries to remember the question and thinks on his answer.

“The law is a good start. Although someone smart would not consider this an obstacle.”

Graham looks straight into Lecter’s eyes and he’s aware the allusion was clear.

“I’ve been taught to overcome problems and pursue my dreams and needs. And that I can do plenty of things if I really want to.”

“Everything’s possible?”

“Not everything. But most of the things you’re scared to even try.”

“Will you tell me about the second victim? Was it different than the first one?”

“Oh yes.” Lecter uncrosses his legs and stands up. The action makes Will slightly afraid and grip tighter the pen he’s holding, just in case. Lecter walks past him and steps close to the wall. “Is this the original?” Lecter asks, looking at a painting.

Will frowns, of course it’s not the original because the original is hanging in some gallery. That said, the copy wasn’t cheap and easy to get, either. Lecter must know that, he knows everything.

“No.” Will says, a bit annoyed and tired.

“Would you like to have the original?”

“Definitely not here, on the display, for someone to steal.”

“I don’t believe anyone would steal it.” Lecter says and Will turns his head, raises his eyebrows questioningly.

Lecter touches the frame and then turns to Will, tilts his head, inviting the man closer. Will complies. He puts down the notebook and the pen and takes a few steps, ending up by Lecter’s side.

“No one would believe that you have the original and so no one would bother to steal it. Unless you told everyone you’re in possession of the original.”

Will squints at the painting and chuckles. True. It even made him frown, the question if this is maybe not a copy.

“You could fill this room with masterpieces and they’d be safe.”

Is this an allusion to him this time? Like, we miss the things that we see the most clearly?

“Why don’t you come over to my house for dinner tomorrow?” Will asks absent-mindedly, still looking at the painting.

“What time?”

“Eight.”

Lecter nods and looks at his watch. It’s late.

He turns to the chairs and glances at the notebook. He touches the outline of it and then turns to Will, who seems transfixed.

“May I have it one day?”

Graham turns and approaches Lecter. He takes the notebook from the man’s hands.

“I’m sorry. This is only for me.”

Lecter nods and leaves.

What did Will just do? He asked a murderer to his own house! He practically sentenced himself to death.

~~~~~~~~~~

_He’s looking at the sun setting. The sky is almost bloody red and the sand under his feet is cold. Will cannot believe how the water reflect perfectly the colour of the sky._

_He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. There is no other explanation than it’s Lecter, whose scent engulfs Will right now. A strong arm is placed around his waist. Will’s breathing is getting heavier._

_The sun appears to be swallowed by the water. But they both know it will be there again, high on the sky, marking a beautiful day. Or behind the clouds, hinting it still exists._

_“Nothing wrong with that.”_

_Will hears the word behind his ear, whispered so sensually he has to lean in, against the man’s cheek._

_“Teach me.” Will whispers back and the scene gets dark, almost completely black._

~~~~~~~~~~

The day is long, it keeps stretching unbearably. The patients talk and talk and Will wonders if it’s him who changed or the patients that got boring. He’s not interested in what they say, he wants to go home and…

After the day in the office, Will goes to the supermarket to buy ingredients for the dinner. He needs it to be perfect. There is no way he could impress Lecter as his cooking skills are not as good as the man’s but he’ll try.

By eight Graham has the table laid and the meal prepared. Everything’s ready.

Suddenly, a thought crosses his mind: Hannibal fed him human flesh, most probably. He never denied nor confirmed it. And Will prepared lamb. Sacrificial? Does he want to tell Lecter he’s sacrificing himself?

A knock at the door and Will counts to ten as he takes off the apron.

Lecter hangs his coat and follows Will to the dining room.

“You’ve got a beautiful house, Will. Any original paintings here?” the man asks with a smirk.

“No. Only copies. You’re welcome to look around. I have nothing to hide.”

“Everyone has something to hide. It’s what makes us interesting.”

Will goes to the kitchen for the plates with the lamb and brings them at the table. Lecter stands by a portrait of a lady with his eyes narrowed.

“Your mother?”

“No. I already told you I didn’t know her. It’s just a portrait. I don’t know whom it presents.”

“Shame. You should check it. Maybe she wouldn’t like you to have her portrait in a dining room.”

Will chuckles. Maybe he’s right.

They sit by the table and Will can’t help but watch Hannibal get the first taste of his dish. To Will’s surprise, Lecter smiles and sips on the wine.

“It’s very good.”

“Thank you.”

There is so much Will wants to ask but at the same time he wants to stay quiet and enjoy the moment. He finally managed to stuff Lecter’s mouth with food so he won’t say anything for some time.

Graham remembers the still unanswered question.

“Tell me about your second victim.”

Lecter chews on the lamb and looks straight into Will’s eyes.

“You’re not going to intimidate me with your tricks.” Graham states confidently and Hannibal’s pupils dilate.

“All right. But I want something in return.” Will frowns but nods. “I want you to tell me what it would take to persuade you to do something you consider wrong.”

Will thinks about the recent events with Alana and his ‘break up’ because he didn’t want to hurt her and deceive her.

“I may do something bad to avoid doing something worse.”

“Fair enough. Now me. After I killed the man who killed my sister I couldn’t find a place for myself. I was constantly moving. I was changing jobs, apartments, everything. I stayed in one place for two months where I met a man. He saw I was stressed out and busy and he asked me why. Just like that, we started seeing each other and one night he told me about his boss. He said he hated him, that he was rude and unpleasant to be around. I met him a few days later in an elevator of some building. There was a spilt coffee, a few rude words and I killed him the next day. I didn’t plan it to the last detail but it was clean. I think the man I was seeing figured out what was happening so I had to move again.”

“They didn’t chase you?”

“No, I think he was afraid of his own life and maybe moved himself. I don’t know. I left and that was it for me.”

“You talk so smoothly about it, so calm. Does death mean nothing to you?”

“On the contrary. And we’ve talked about it.”

Will swallows before he asks the question wandering through his mind for some time.

“What would it take to kill me?”

“I don’t intend to kill you.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want to share my experience with you.”

“You want me to… No. No, no, no. Let’s drop this topic.”

“You started it.”

“And I regret it.”

“Is there a lot of things you regret, Will?”

Graham still feels uneasy hearing his name said by this man.

“Regretting doesn’t help. I can’t undo many things and I have to live with the consequences of my choices. Or choices made for me.”

“Would you rather decide to kill someone or be forced to do this?”

“There is no good answer to this question.”

“Good – no. Correct? Maybe.”


	10. Chapter 10

It lasts for weeks then. The sessions interspersed with dinners, either at Lecter’s or at Will’s. Hannibal is interested in Will’s inner life, his beliefs and experiences as well as his early life, while Will tries to work out the following victims.

Graham even brings the files he has from Crawford and they both look at them while Hannibal explains his motivation.

The whole arrangement might appear somewhat sick to someone else but Will considers it ‘broadening the horizons’.

One evening, it’s probably later than ever, they are sitting in comfortable chairs at Lecter’s house and drink cognac. Will looks at the man, from behind his heavy-enough-to-go-to-sleep eyelids. The alcohol on his tongue tastes strangely like future and Will wonders what dreams he’ll have this night.

For those few weeks he dreamt about Lecter almost every night, with the exception of the nights when he can’t remember, and they almost always contained him, Lecter or the Wendigo, a dead body and…

“The night I found you on the side of the road… You said you met with the man and he was supposed to take you to a hotel.” Lecter nods in acknowledgement. “Why?”

The question seems to amuse Hannibal. He sips on the drink and then puts the glass down on the small table near him.

“That was a kind of experiment.” Lecter begins and Will narrows his eyes as if the gesture would help him hear or concentrate better. “I never do such things but people at the hospital were talking about a website where you can meet other people, preferably with similar interests. I was hoping to find someone like you there.” Will swallows. “But a quick hard sex would be enough after I figured out the man wasn’t who I perceived him to be. So I decided to…fool around and then never see him again.”

“And his attempt to save some money by taking you to the forest drove him to his death.”

Lecter shrugs his shoulders gently and Will chuckles. It’s such an innocent and playful gesture.

Graham knows it’s time for him to leave when he starts to feel dizzy and leans against the Lecter’s chair in order to support his heavy head. He stands up and shakes his head to get rid of the unpleasant feeling. Lecter stands next to him and tilts his head.

“Should I call you a taxi?”

“Would you rather see me drive?”

“You could sleep on the couch. That’s the best I can offer.”

Will snorts but considers the offer. Couch… Probably not as comfortable as his own bed. When he wakes up the next morning he’ll probably still need more sleep. But here, even if on an uncomfortable couch, he’d be aware of another person sleeping in the same house. He wouldn’t be completely alone.

“All right. I’ll take the couch.”

“I’ll bring you a blanket and a pillow.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s settled on the couch and it’s been a while since Hannibal went to his bedroom. Will closes his eyes and thinks about his life choices that brought him here. He violated doctor-patient relationship with Lecter and what’s the best decision now other than to give the man a referral and keep seeing him non-professionally?

Will’s thoughts move towards Alana and he sighs under the blanket. He hasn’t had sex since he told her it’s better that way. He hasn’t been on a date since… Way too long to remember how to do that. Graham _is_ charming and he’d probably have no problems with finding a woman even if for one night, but there is something…that makes him not want to look for such a woman.

Will undoes the first two buttons in his shirt but still feels hot so he sits up and takes off the shirt completely, folds it and puts it on the coffee table. His head hurts but he probably shouldn’t take any pills, not after drinking alcohol. He groans and lies down again, the blanket covering his legs and a waist but leaving his smooth chest revealed.

He closes his eyes and feels like he may be becoming a ghost. Like he’s just a lingering presence in this house.

~~~~~~~~~~

_A hand is stroking his jaw, caressing his stubble. His eyes remain closed but he parts his lips. There is a soft bed underneath him and a man behind him. He wants nothing more than to lie still and enjoy the touches on his face._

_“Coffee?” asks the heavy voice with a peculiar accent._

_Will murmurs and a sigh escapes his lips._

_“Black, strong?”_

_Again, a murmur, but this time different. No, he wants his coffee with sugar and milk._

_Will turns to face the man, but he keeps his eyes closed. He can feel the other man’s lips just an inch away from his and he leans in._

_“Add some sugar…” Will says upon the man’s lips but not yet kissing him “… and make it white.”_

_Finally, Will’s lips are caught in a brutal and needy kiss and then the force fades and all that remains is the sweetness._

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a thud and a clank and Will’s eyes open involuntarily. He wishes to sleep a moment longer. He stretches his arms and feels the blanket covering him like a cocoon. Did he do that in his sleep?

He untangles himself from the soft fabric and reaches for the shirt. He does the last button when he enters the kitchen.

Hannibal is already making coffee and placing pieces of bread in the toaster. He spots Will and smiles.

“Good morning. Did I wake you? I’m so sorry, but this machine wouldn’t work and… I guess the day started badly so there’s a chance it will end better.” Lecter says with a smile.

“I think I should be going. Thank you for the dinner and for…renting me the couch.”

Hannibal narrows his eyes and then chuckles.

“There’s no reason you couldn’t stay for breakfast. I’ve already made coffee.”

Will looks through the window and considers the offer. There is really no way he can make the situation worse; he’s already slept at the man’s house. Graham nods and sits by the kitchen table. He rubs his forehead.

Hannibal hands him a cup of coffee and an aspirin. When Will looks inside the mug, he finds the coffee is white and when he tastes it, his lips part in shock to find the liquid sweet. How did he know? This was a dream, wasn’t it?

“Um…”

“Forgive me, I tend to drink white coffee during the weekends and I projected my needs on you. Do you want me to make you another one, black this time?”

“No. I… It’s good. Thank you.”

What is going on?

Lecter makes them toasts with butter and jam and Will somehow feels more hungry than ever. He almost devours the breakfast. They talk about the next meeting and Will says he will give the files back to Crawford and withdraw from the case completely.

“Don’t you want to see my next moves? Aren’t you curious?” Lecter asks and Will thinks how during the time they were meeting, Lecter didn’t kill anyone. How come?

“I’m curious about the man without the head. You can tell me about the new ones, I don’t need photos.”

Lecter frowns slightly and then smiles gently.

“I didn’t kill that one.”

Will’s head tilts and his eyes narrow. It’s a case from about a month or more ago, and that was one of Will’s patients, and _that_ was one of the reasons Will is now in the situation he is in.

“They didn’t find his head, did they?” Lecter asks and Will shakes his head. “If I cut off the head, I’d place it somewhere it would be found immediately. That killer wanted the head for himself.”

“Why?” Will clutches the cup with the coffee and feels how it makes his palm hot.

“A souvenir? A proof? The point is, the police can identify the body and he gets to keep the head.”

Will thinks about the theory when he drives back home. He quickly showers and changes into fresh clothes. The drive to Quantico can be pretty boring and Will turns on the radio. But after a moment his thoughts are elsewhere so he doesn’t even realise he didn’t turned off the radio when he leaves the car.

Graham tells Crawford about his theory of a different killer and the only thing he gets in return is a strange look.

“So you’re saying you can’t figure out the Ripper but this one case is definitely not connected with him?”

“Yes.” Will groans. “I know how it sounds but there is something that just don’t fit in here. He takes trophies, he takes the organs but not the whole head. He wouldn’t do that. And if he would, he would make a display later. There is no reason for him to keep the head.”

“How can you know? Maybe this victim was somehow special to him? Maybe the others are just a cover for this one murder.”

“No. You got it all wrong. This one is not on him.”

Crawford gives another sceptical look and nods slowly. Graham is let go but the minute he sits in his car, his phone rings.

“Hello, Alana.”

“Hi. Jack just called me and told me to come. He said you went to talk to him and that you found some discrepancies?”

“Well, yes. One of the murders doesn’t feel like the Ripper’s. I told Crawford everything he needs to know but he didn’t seem convinced. Maybe you’ll see that, too, and will manage to open his eyes.”

“I’d prefer if we met and you explained it to my yourself.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Alana. I just… I didn’t sleep much and I believe I can faint any minute.”

“It’s all right. We can meet tomorrow for lunch if you want.”

“That’s be great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i checked out the meaning of Will's dream and these are the results:  
> black coffee - excitement  
> with milk - an invitation  
> with sugar - anticipation of rumours about You  
> and i believe that's what will happen in the next chapter ^^


	11. Chapter 11

_He gasps as a tongue moves in circles around his left nipple. He arches his back and moans. It’s something new to him, being the one to submit and surrender. Usually he’s on top and the women beneath him are the ones to squirm and beg. Now he grunts. A wave of heat goes through his whole body and he shivers._

_The hands on his belly feel like two warmed up stones, barely taken out of the oven. Will wants to escape but he wants more. He turns his head so that his cheek touches the pillow but one of the hot hands forces him to look at the man above him. Will breathes out and it feels like his last breath._

_He’s stretched on the bed, his body shivers and shakes. He has no control over what is happening and he loves it._

_Suddenly, Will spots blood on the man’s face and feels the urge to taste it. He kisses his lover and hopes to end up equally messy. Their lips disconnect and Will reaches behind his back to grab the headboard._

_“Aaah!” Will yells openly, not remotely ashamed. “Hannibal…”_

~~~~~~~~~~

Will wakes with a gasp and then breathes heavily towards his pillow. He rubs his neck and feels something sticky and wet under the duvet. Oh god.

He uncovers himself and finds his briefs completely stained and ruined. He goes to the bathroom to have a shower and change. What the hell? He just came in his sleep! Maybe he really needs to find a woman.

He sees his patients until lunch and almost burns under his skin. He feels distant, confused and he wants to run through the door and run till his muscles hurt. He doesn’t. He calls Alana and they meet in a café in the city centre.

Graham orders a cup of green tea, because coffee would resume his craving for a long fast run.

“Jack asked me if he should listen to you, if _I_ would listen to you.” Alana says.

“What did you tell him?”

“I believe your arguments make sense but Jack wasn’t convinced because of the way you spoke to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He said you sounded impulsive and excited. I wasn’t there so I’m in no position to judge, but how did you figure out that the case from over a month ago is not the Ripper’s murder?”

“Crawford gave me the files, right? And I looked at them, I was looking at them for some time, when I was at home. And the Ripper never did that. He never took an entire limb with him. It would be inelegant.”

Alana makes a grimace and frowns. Will chuckles. What elegant is there about a murdered person, deprived of internal organs, often cut in half and generally mutilated and displayed? Nothing – one might say, but Will has grown to understand the beauty of it. He’s found a few mechanisms in Lecter’s mind that - again, one could say - cloud his judgement.

“I mean, if he cares so much for the display, he wouldn’t have taken the head with him. What would be the reason?”

Alana looks through the window and wonders.

“So, there is another killer?”

“Most probably. I would definitely look at this one case form a different angle. There is a different motive here.”

“Which is…?”

“I don’t know.”

“And do you know the Ripper’s motive?”

“I… I know what you’re saying. Look, you can either believe me and solve this or keep running in circles. I don’t mind.”

Alana, seeing Will’s determination and quite apparent certainty, reaches for the man’s hand and squeezes.

“I believe you. Maybe it’s your intuition. But I believe you. I’ll talk to Jack.”

Will nods and smiles weakly.

~~~~~~~~~~

The clock tells seven when Will opens the door for Lecter. They exchange meaningful glances and sit in the familiar chairs opposite each other. Will crosses his legs and places the notebook on his knees.

Graham set out to writing his notes after Lecter’s session, not during. He’s added a few drawings and scribbles. Tonight, there is a letter inside the notebook. A letter of referral. Will wrote it just in case, though he’s still considering giving it to the man.

“Are you familiar with the concept of the memory palace?” Lecter asks first.

“Of course. Why?”

“I was curious if you approve? If you find yourself wandering through the corridors of your mind.”

“Too often.”

“On purpose? Or is it an aimless journey out of boredom?”

“Rather an expedition.”

“To find answers?”

“To find the answers to the questions most of people are afraid to even ask.”

Lecter smiles dangerously and uncrosses his legs. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees and he looks intensively at Will.

“Have you ever considered killing someone?”

“No.” Will answers simply.

He really hasn’t. The threats he made were empty, vacuous and often made out of anger. Truly, he never made even as much as a draft of a plan for murder. At least not until now. Now, Graham starts thinking about a few of his recent dreams, when he was standing above a dead body, when he craved the blood from Hannibal’s face. Now, again, he wants to run through the door and run as far away as he can. Run to lose the energy, to get rid of this feeling.

“I know you thought about it, you’re thinking about it now.” Lecter states and Will looks away, a sort of shameful admission. But he’s not ashamed, not in the presence of this man. Will looks back at Lecter, their gaze boring into each other.

“There must be a patient you find so annoying you wish he died every time he crosses the threshold.” Lecter continues and Will narrows his eyes.

“I’d be terrible at my job if I said yes to that statement.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just blink. Blink and I’ll know I’m right.”

“You already know you’re right. Am I supposed to tickle your ego?”

Lecter smiles, wider, red sparks in his eyes. Will blinks, purposely slow and they both chuckle. Hannibal stands up and makes two measured steps, so that he is standing close to Will, their knees almost touching but not really. Will looks up at the man and his heart skips a beat. What now?

“Hunt with me.”

Will blinks again, at the bluntness of the request. He leans back in his chair, looking at the man before him.

“You’ve never grimaced at the fact that I’m the Ripper, never despised me for killing, for being who I am. Let me offer you the same acceptance.”

Acceptance – yes. But becoming a killer in order to satisfy this one need?

When Will doesn’t answer, Lecter makes a different approach.

“Is it difficult? Knowing who I am, knowing the truth and not being able to tell that to anyone? Not being able to tell the police? Does that bother you?”

“Not anymore. They wouldn’t understand. They’d confine you to a prison cell and call you a freak.”

“Are you afraid you’d share the same fate? Is that why you never broke any law? Because they’d call you a freak?”

Will chuckles at the thought that if this was a cliché movie, he’d now be sharing a story of his childhood, when his peers didn’t understand him and called him plenty of offensive words. But that is not the truth. That’s not what happened.

“It seems we have more in common than I thought at the beginning.”

“And I’m glad you are brave enough to admit it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Will lies in bed, his own bed, thinking about his future. He didn’t give Lecter any answer but he supposes it’s only a matter of time. Graham never felt so lonely, he never realised he was. Not until he met Lecter, who made him realise what he was missing out. And now he’s considering running away. He’s considering the worst anyone could think of.

Will closes his eyes and the images behind them don’t scare him anymore. He sees himself, living more freely than he does now. He never felt limited, not until he found out that he can cross the boundaries. And he’s going to do that. He knows he will.

And he’s not even afraid of what people might say. When he leaves, with Lecter or not, he will be finally free. He’s grown tired of the painful routine without his knowledge.

What place should he choose for his stay? Should he make this decision now or when he’s at the airport?

A single tear escapes Will’s eye and he takes a deep breath before he falls asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

_He’s staring at the sight before him. The sun is far, slightly over the horizon, making the sky orange, if not nearly red. He’s standing somewhere high, on top of the highest building, and he has a perfect view of the whole city. The wind blows and engulfs him like a cloth. His hair is ruffled and goes in all directions, following the wind._

_Will turns around to see the rest of the city and is not, in fact, surprised by the sight of Hannibal. The man seems older than he is but he smiles at Will so warmly and with so much affection that no one could guess his age._

_“You set me free.” Will says and takes a step towards Lecter._

_“You set yourself free.” Hannibal answers and stands still. He waits for Will, he wants him to make this decision himself._

_Will takes another step, slowly breathing and when he reaches out for Lecter, he notices how his hand is different, too. The skin is more stretched and yet somehow less flexible. He’s older, too._

_He takes Lecter’s hand and leads them to the edge of the roof. They look at the landscape spreading before them and then Will looks at the man, stares at his forever maroon eyes with red sparks and glistening in excitement. This is what he wants to dream about forever. This is the dream he wants to come true._

_Graham leans a bit closer and…_

~~~~~~~~~~

Don’t you hate the feeling when you wake up just as something beautiful is about to happen in your dream?

Will groans and goes to his kitchen to make himself coffee. He’s forming a plan in his mind and calls one of his patients.  On Friday this all will be in the past.


	12. Chapter 12

The days till Friday were long and full of unkeepable promises. Will didn’t see Hannibal for dinner during that time, nor did he call Jack or Alana. He wanted to prepare himself for his new life. He hoped this might be his new life.

As formerly planned, Will doesn’t have the last but one patient so he drives to Lecter’s house. The sky is already dark and the road is slightly slippery after the rain. Will stops the car by the familiar building and waits. The lights are on, Hannibal is still inside. Will looks at the passenger seat, where he put his notebook and sighs. It’s as good a moment as any.

Graham steps out of the car and at the same time Lecter leaves the house.

“Will?”

Will doesn’t say anything. He approaches the man, who frowns but then opens the door to the house, inviting Will inside. They move to the kitchen, where Lecter makes them tea. Will stands by the counter, holding his notebook tightly, and watches Lecter move comfortably around the room.

“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.” Graham starts but Lecter does not turn to face him, he adds some sugar to the tea. “I took time to consider your offer.”

Lecter takes the cups with the tea and goes to the living room. He sets the cups on the table and takes a seat on the couch. With a gesture of one hand he invites Will to sit by him, which he does.

One sip of tea, one deep breath and Will extends his hand holding the notebook.

“I want you to have it. All of it.”

Lecter accepts the unusual present and flicks through the pages to find a letter. A letter of referral that Will wrote some time ago and was not brave enough to hand it to Hannibal until now.

Lecter frowns slightly, he is genuinely surprised by the course of action. He must have been absolutely certain he had impact on Will and that Will would finally embrace the truth about himself. Hannibal hoped to have a partner in his nightly (and not only) activities. He hoped for an equal. Instead, he got another referral?

“I set myself free.” Will says, evidently happy with himself.

“I hope some credit can be attributed to my modest person?”

Will only smiles and takes another sip of tea. When he sets down the cup, he continues.

“Now that you’re no longer my patient, I see appropriate to accept your offer, if it’s still valid?”

Lecter looks at Will with the red sparks that appeared out of fear of losing Will, the first and only person who ever understood him, but now they changed into a craving fire. So that’s the decision.

“I have one condition, though.” Hannibal nods in acknowledgement. “We leave the city. You leave your former life as the Ripper and start a new one with me. We find new identities, new place to live, new motives.”

Lecter narrows his eyes and his lips curl in a smile.

“Is there nothing that would keep you here?”

“No. I want to be born again. I want to detach myself from who I was before.”

Lecter’s eyes are full of affection and warmth at hearing Will’s confident statement. He’s got nothing here that would capture his attention as well so they are free to do as they please. They are free to go wherever they want. There is only one more thing…

“I will pack my things. I will take you to France. We’ll begin our lives anew.” Hannibal says softly and Will grins. He looks at the man next to him and lifts his hand to stroke his arm. The gesture throws Lecter slightly off balance but he quickly recovers his cool composure as he is about to ask one more thing. “But before we leave, will you help me with one more thing? The Ripper’s last crime. And then we’re gone from this life.”

Will looks straight into the man’s eyes and tries to find his answer there, though he already knows it. He nods and after one more gentle touch he stands up from the couch. Lecter goes to his bedroom to pack all the necessary things and Will follows him to the room to watch.

Not even fifteen minutes later, they are ready to leave. Will looks for his notebook he gave Hannibal and is quite happy not to find it anywhere. Hannibal must have taken it. He’ll read it. He won’t be able to resist.

Lecter packs his things into the trunk of his car and then turns to Will. They’re both excited, their eyes sparkle and glisten.

“Who is it going to be? Your last victim.” Will asks, while opening the door to his own car.

“Frederick Chilton. I suppose you know him.”

Graham’s lips part slightly at the name and then he shakes his head.

“Why?”

“He insulted me. Isn’t that obvious?”

Will sighs and remembers all those times when dr Chilton said something inappropriate or plainly rude. He made himself a target.

“Got a plan?”

“Actually yes. Go to him now, tell him you’re leaving. You’ll distract him and then I’ll help you kill him.”

“Help _me_? I thought I was the one to help you.”

“I hoped this could be your initiation.”

Graham narrows his eyes. He nods, slowly, not fully certain of this course of action. He steps inside his car and drives off, Hannibal follows him in his own car. Will notices Lecter takes a different turn after a moment but Will doesn’t change his route. He parks by Frederick’s house. He’s alone. The lights from the house make everything clear to see even outside.

Will steps out of the car and his phone buzzes. Lecter.

“Where are you?”

“I’ll be there in five minutes, I already passed the sign on the crossroad. Go.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Will is lying on a hotel bed, watching the news. Hannibal is in the bathroom, taking a shower. They have been on the road for a few days. They need refreshment and they will be ready to go sightseeing.

The weather in Florence is beautiful. It’s sunny but not hot so it’s not tiring to walk around the city for hours. There is still so much they need to see.

After Paris, Lecter suggested they went to Italy and then who knows. Maybe it’ll turn into a trip over the whole Europe? Or maybe they’ll finally find a place to settle.

Hannibal appears in the room, his hair fairly damp prom the shower. He’s got his briefs on and he dries himself with a towel. He steps closer to bed and Will smiles at him. There are a few sights in life worth imprinting on one’s brain and that would be one of them.

Lecter leans over the bed but Will doesn’t move, he doesn’t have to. Hannibal places a leg on the bed, then his bum, and then he leans even closer to the younger man.

The kiss is sweet and fresh. Will’s lips are dry, unlike Hannibal’s. There is no tongue, there hasn’t been so far. There hasn’t been more than kisses and gentle touches. They are all gestures of reassurance, affection and acceptance, nothing more so far. There was nothing that would indicate their relationship is more than purely platonic and intellectual, with a note of innocent physicality.

Will remembers the first time they kissed. After his first kill, after Chilton’s last breath. Or maybe during? Maybe the man was still breathing… Will doesn’t care. He didn’t care then. The blood sprayed on his face was enough to lose himself and lose track of time and space. He was euphoric and he was turned on, more than ever in his life.

He simply had to smear some of that life essence on Hannibal’s smug face so he grabbed the man’s arm and stepped so close their faces almost melted into each other. He kissed Lecter so passionately he was afraid he’d faint.

Now, all Will’s dreams are triggered. Now, he remembers them all. Clearly, vividly. He remembers the dreams in which he set himself free, in which he was having sex with Lecter, in which he killed people.

Will moans softly and Hannibal moves his hand to rest on Will’s hip. The kiss becomes more fierce, yet even more affectionate. _This_ is the promise of all the dreams coming true.

They kiss and Hannibal slowly unbuttons Will’s shirt while a tv is still playing. The woman from the news channel tells the story of a psychiatrist and his patient who ran away together. The therapist left a letter of referral in his office along with a notebook in which he wrote down his dreams and hopes concerning his patient. The affair was a shock for plenty of people in the town and for the friends of both of the men. No one knows where the men currently are and whether they are still together but surprisingly enough, most of the citizens hope the men are happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not really satisfied with this fic but if anyone liked it then i'm happy ^^  
> thank You for reading :**


End file.
